Page 9 of Paths

Speaking of my thorn, I look to the front entrance when the big heavy door swings open. My creeper instincts must be honed to perfection, because there he is—Grady, bigger than life like always, with Crew behind him.

“Hey, you here for lunch?” Addy swiftly moves from behind the counter and greets her boyfriend—or whatever he is—with a kiss.

Crew doesn’t let her go, keeping her tight to his side and looks down at her with full adoration. “Yeah. I decided to drag Grady out for a late lunch.”

Grateful for the excuse to finally peek at him, I bite my lip and try to hide my frown when I find him staring at me. It’s sort of a mix between a glare and a stare, but nonetheless, his beautiful, bright-blue eyes shine through his crinkled brow. I should greet them both, or do my job and offer to take their orders, but Grady frowning at me makes me hesitate. I have a feeling it’s all about my pushing the specials on him.

Hmm.

That was a couple days ago, but apparently, I made an impression. I’ve resorted back to hiding for the last couple days and successfully avoided him every time he’s come in.

“How are you feeling, Grady? You look like you’re moving better,” Addy asks.

Grady’s eyes narrow on me before looking to Addy, muttering, “Better every day.”

“What happened?” Oh, shit. I hate it when I speak before thinking. That popped out of my mouth before I could stop it, probably because I’ve wondered what happened to him since the first time I laid eyes on him. After moving here, I’ve controlled my curiosity about everything in an attempt to keep my distance, but it’s plain to see Grady was in a serious accident. The health care professional in me—and more recently the creeper—has been gnawing at the bit to find out how he ended up broken, bruised, and scarred.

If I’m not mistaken, Addy and Crew tense a bit as all eyes move to Grady. He’s staring at me again, those blue eyes a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

When he doesn’t answer, my mouth starts to run, because the awkward silence is so uncomfortable, I can’t handle it. “You were obviously in some sort of accident and broke your arm, but with your wedge, it’s easy to see it’s more than just your radius and ulna.”

Grady says nothing, but shifts his weight as his frown deepens.

But I’m on a roll and can’t help myself. “I’ve seen you this way for weeks now, broken forearms aren’t slung that long anymore, let alone with a wedge. Did you do something to your shoulder?”

I must have annoyed him into speaking because he finally clips, “I’m fine.”

“You need to go back to the doctor,” Crew adds. “He told you to come back soon for a follow-up. You’re gonna fuck up that shoulder if you wait much longer.”

Grady’s eyes shift to Crew, his blue eyes nothing but angry now. “I said, I’m fine.”

The mention of his shoulder is too much—I slide right into healthcare mode. “What did you do to your shoulder?”

Grady looks back across the bar to me. “Nothing.”

“He dislocated it,” Crew answers for him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Grady growls at Crew.

And I thought he was grumpy before. All this back-and-forth has certainly pushed him over the top.

“How long ago?” I ask, now more concerned than ever. I’ve been stalking him for more than four weeks in this condition, if he hasn’t been back to the doctor by now, that isn’t good.

He’s in full-on glare mode when he looks back at me and asks, “Who are you?”

Sweet Addy offers her first words in the conversation, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m sorry, Grady, have you not met Maya Augustine?”

Grady’s eyes widen, and this time I know he’s talking about me pushing the specials when he answers without looking away from me, “Oh, I’ve met her.”

As if no one else has spoken, Crew keeps filling me in. “It’s been five weeks.”

Unbelievable. He dislocated his shoulder five weeks ago and hasn’t been back to the doctor? Grady starts to direct his frown to Crew, but looks back to me instantly when I can’t hold back any longer. My next words come from nothing but pure passion for a job I love, but also concern for my patients, even though he’s definitely not my patient.

“It’s been five weeks and you haven’t been back to the doctor? You’re going to lose motion if you don’t do something right away. Even with the break, light therapy should have started a week after the injury. Those ligaments are going to tighten around the glenohumeral joint between the humeral head and scapula, making it more painful later on, and that’s if you don’t permanently lose motion. The damage is already setting in, and if you don’t get started right away, you’ll never have full range without major reconstructive surgery.”

When I finally end my unwanted assault of therapeutic knowledge, I find all three of them are standing on the other side of the bar staring at me. And I realize I’ve done it. I’ve totally screwed myself for the first time in months, giving hints as to who I am.

Damn, I’ve been so careful, too. If I’m honest with myself, I’m actually surprised I lasted this long. I’m not a good liar and never have been.

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